Like Fine Wine
by bruuuuua
Summary: Emil had grown immensely in both body and spirit. No longer small and frail he now stood tall and proud. They've both changed over the years. 7 years to be exact. A collection of Older! RichterXEmil oneshots focusing on the live(s) they could have been living. Varying from the Symphonian universe to complete AU.
1. Aprons and Testosterone

Ya, I am not dead. I still very much love these two and it's about damn time I wrote you guys another story!

Now, as I am about 7 years older since I fell in love with these two, to me it feels as if they've aged with me. Rather, starting writing about them with especially Emil as really still just such a boy feels like a weird way to jump back in. So this is set with Older!Emil, let's say in his early twenties. 16+7=23. We the same age bro.

Alright please enjoy! Let me know what you guys thought, I feel hella motivated to pick these two up again but a little love from readers can never hurt!

In the future, this may turn into a dump for all Older!Emil Oneshots

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Emil's cooking has always been wonderful in both taste and vision, and Richter would often be reminded of how lucky he was to end up with a good cook in a world so limited in plenty of ways. These reminders usually fell on the nights Emil was not there and had not been able to precook a meal, thus forcing Richter to cook himself. Fortunately these times were rare. After a few of these nights ending up with Emil coming home to find Richter locked in the bathroom, the blonde almost always makes sure there's something edible.

He'd grown immensely in style and taste. With age he'd come to appreciate the more bitter tastes somewhat more. The meals were more refined, and the dove shaped carrots had been replaced by strips placed together like a bird's nest. His cooking had become less cutesy, but no less impressive.

Some things however, remained. He still wore an apron, and had actually saved up quite the collection. Where in the beginning Richter found it to be annoying, distracting ( And unnecessarily complicated and tedious to remove.), it had become more endearing. A little quirk so like Emil that it would now look unnatural should he cook without.

Emil had decided to let his hair grow out, and while it was not even close to being as long as Richter's, it had grown to the point of needing assistance to stay put during cooking. And so the front bangs were nowadays either pushed back with a hairband or pulled back with a clip, and occasionally tied back into a small and sorry excuse for a ponytail.

It was irrationally attractive.

Richter rarely put his hair up, and if he did it was loosely. He hated the tight pressure on his scalp. Only during very long periods of reading would he succumb, and more often than not was it because Emil started to play with his hair and ended up tying it for him.

But Emil, Emil could pull it off far better than he would ever have expected. Even with an apron on did he still manage to look more manly than he had years ago, but he supposed he owed that all to aging. Yet, it took a special kind of person to wear an apron, hairband or pin, a shirt with such a wide and loose head opening that Richter wasn't entirely sure if it was designed for men, and still have an air of testosterone around him. In a way, it's manlier even than Richter has ever seen himself.

Richter looked at Emil's frame; no longer small and frail, but tall and proud. Not too broad but definitely no longer the frame of a boy.

"Richter?"

"Hmm?" He absentmindedly answered.

"You're staring."

Emil turned, a smile on his face, knowing and almost cocky, yet still with that hint of uncertainty about whether he was too bold or rude. He absentmindedly rolled up his sleeves as he waited for Richter to reply.

Even there he'd grown into his body. With his sleeves rolled up he looked stronger, more confident. His skin was still soft, but nowadays covered by fine blond hairs. His arms were stronger and his muscles more defined, but it was never bulgy, never too unlike Emil.

"Is something wrong?" He looks worried, a look that always reminded Richter of a mother tending to her children.

Richter briefly wonders if he's having an early midlife crisis.

"No, I'm fine. Just distracted." He rubs his temples and frowns, mostly about his own thoughts.

"Well, then will you help me? Making the marinade took a little longer than I planned." He stretched his arm to force his rolled up sleeve to rile back, and wiped a few stray hairs from his face with the back of his hand.

Richter raised his eyebrows skeptically. "You want me to help?"

"Just with cutting up some vegetables." Emil wiped his hands on his apron,- a pink one, with ruffles and a ribbon. He never got a confession, but Richter was almost sure Emil got that one just to spite him.

"Sure."

"Thanks. I'll start on the onions and garlic, you start with the bell pepper." He pointed to a cutting board and the bright red pepper laying there.

By the time Richter was done cutting the bell pepper into small blocks Emil had already cut up the onions and garlic, as well as cut and measured out some herbs and spices.

These days Emil knew more about herbs than Richter did. His almost childish determination to like them more was a fond memory, and it seemed to have held stand.

He took up the spot behind Emil. Wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him close. He no longer fit snuggly in his arms. Richter's own chest was no longer as broad as almost Emil's entire body, and he no longer had to bend down plant his lips on the top of his blonde hairs. Emil now reached up to his lips, give or take. He could press a kiss against Emil's temples without effort,- and he did. He kissed him again, slightly lower, and again, just behind his ear. Emil giggled, but Richter heard the slight hitching of his breath right before his lips made contact.

He traced his lips lower again, taking a small step back to create some room. He placed soft kissed all the way down to where his back dipped between his shoulder blades ( _definitely not a shirt for men_ , he thought.), and back up, to the slight bulge of muscle between shoulder and neck. His hands moved, gripped Emil's hip and behind, before going for the tied knot on his back that would allow him to remove these damn _ruffles_.

But Emil turned around and swatted his hand away. Where once he would have been too embarrassed to stutter out more than a few confused syllables he now had a small grin on his face and a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

"Not when I'm cooking, you know the rule."

He tells him off, just like that. His face is heated up and there's still that shine to his eyes that shows the wonder and amazement of the feelings he's experiencing, but he does it. And then there's the lowering of his eyes to the ground and the intensifying blush on his cheeks as he adds "Maybe later?" and he quickly turns around to save the food.

Richter feels the urge to close his eyes. He breathes in deep and lets out a sigh, and Emil turns around with a worried look on his face.

"Is something wrong?"

Richter laughs, short and soft, but it's a laugh. Something he's let himself do more often in the last few years.

"No," he says and he steps closer. He cups Emil's face with both hands. "Everything's fine."

He's happy he still has to bend down he thinks, as he covers Emil's lips with his own.

* * *

In which I am Richter. We all are Richter.

To me they still seem in character, but perhaps you see this differently? let me know!  
Please point out any spelling or grammar errors I may have missed. 


	2. New Insight

A/N

I'm so happy some of you actually remember me ha! You made me feel wonderful, thank you so much.

There's a cut out, a bit like a flashback. I tried to make it flow as I don't like those clear breaks of then - now, but it's a bit hard without heavy formatting. I hope the horizontal line this site gives us makes it somewhat clear. But I refuse to paste in symbols or stuff in the middle of the flow to make it clear when it changes. Bear with me.

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Emil stares at him, but after years of living with Richter he can no longer be easily intimidated into looking away with a glare. That said, Richter's glares have become a far rarer occurrence. A fortunate development. Instead Richter simply glances at him. When Emil stays silent, he gives up and turns to look at him. ''Yes?''

''Do you remember our first kiss?'' It's a question he didn't expect. There's rarely a stutter to his words nowadays, but still that shy tone, that uncertainty. In this case it's even more evident, as he looks away when Richter's eyes meet his.

''What?''

''N-nevermind.''

''...I do, but why are you asking?''

''Well, I just...I was thinking about it the other day and...'' His cheeks redden, they still do so easily.

''...and?'' Richter pushes.

Emil briefly bit his lip, distracting Richter from the bubbling annoyance he was experiencing, before his lips curved upward into a small sly grin.

''Was that...Was that your first kiss?''

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Richter wasn't easily embarrassed, be it by himself or second hand. Second hand annoyance- that he knew. If that was even a thing.

There had only been a few times he found himself with a confusing feeling that settled in his gut. A feeling that tickled and made him restless. It had taken several times before he realized this happened when he thought about Emil. Not in the usual way- about Ratatosk, Marta, or the threat of the centurion's cores.

No, the first time he can remember thinking about Emil in this new way, it's about his hair. About the stupid bundle, that _antenna,_ that simply refuses to abide by the laws of physics and gravity. Next it's about his eyes, and how brighter a green they are than his own. Then, briefly, it's about the rest of his face; how it looks soft- and then Richter snaps from his thoughts. He's terribly aware of the heavy feeling in his gut,- nerves, but different, not as unpleasant. It hits him then, and his eyes widen with the horrible realization of what he's feeling.

 _Oh goddess no._

He tries his hardest to drill these feeling into the ground. The next time, and the time after that. He tries thinking as rational and degrading about Emil as he can, or to just think about something else entirely. Nothing works. Weeks go by, after which he encounters the boy- or sees him from a distance really. But it's enough to make his heart jump, and his mind give up. He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, and lets out a defeated sigh.

He has a crush.

Richter Abend, described as cold and distant, _actually_ a cold and distant person, has a crush.

He's embarrassed at himself, for himself, with himself, really just in any way possible. Even Aqua seems unsure of how to respond. Her personality instinct says to tease, but her experience and common sense result in her keeping her head. She keeps quiet, and simply watches in silence.

Yet, when Emil tracks him down the next time he sees him, he doesn't deny his help. He realizes this is what it must mean to experience the weakness of the heart. Even though his mind tells him he can't do this, even if it's simply because they're bound to be enemies, he can't push him away, not anymore.

So Emil tags along, and although he still doesn't answer a lot of his questions, he's not as cold, and he can't help but feel just a bit more energized every time Emil takes up space beside him.

And then, he doesn't know how it happened, he's pinned Emil to a wall. He kisses him before he can tell himself all the reasons he shouldn't, kisses him like this is the last time- and it will be, he knows. He tries to take in everything he can before regret will ruin the memory and leave him with a taste bitter instead of sweet. The softness of Emil's lips and skin, the way he cranes his head back as Richter runs his hand through Emil's hair in an effort to get him closer- perhaps a tad too rough he realizes, and he softens his touches, even though a selfish and dangerous part of him tells him that if he softens too much Emil will pull away, and he can't let him do that, not yet.

But if he's supposed to have learned anything about Emil by now, it's that he has the ability to surprise him. So instead of pulling away when Richter lowers his hand he pushes back harder against his lips and shakes his head lightly but forceful, with a desperation behind it as if he's saying _don't. Don't let go of me now._

So he doesn't. He brings both hands up to cup Emil's face as he reinitiates the kiss. They're both desperate now. The kiss is messy, far from soft and gentle. There's some teeth clashing as they continuously briefly break apart for air. Their lips become red and swollen from the pressure, and their lungs seem to debate on whether they need air or want to give it up forever for the sake of having the moments last longer.

The sounds coming from them vary, but both are to engrossed in each to care about the way they sound. Emil stands up on his toes and grabs on to Richter's shoulders for support. He's afraid to touch, as if it will be too much, too far, just like that, and he doesn't want to lose Richter. Not now.

But Richter doesn't do anything close to that. He lowers his hands, briefly holds Emil's waist and holds him close. But then he wraps his arms around him entirely and lifts him from the ground, and this time it's Emil placing his hands on Richter's face. He feels soft and warm, and he pulls back, feeling just enough courage to look him in the eyes, however briefly.

His lips are slightly parted, and he's panting. Richter's eyes are bright and intense, wide and surprised, as if even he can't believe this is happening. But there's another look to them, one more dangerous and thrilling, which Emil can only assume is lust.

They close the distance again at the same time, both- although Richter would never admit this- too shy or embarrassed to look each other in the eyes any longer for fear of losing courage.

Richter holds Emil up for longer than he planned. It feels odd having him above him and being the one to have to crane his head back, but he doesn't care, doesn't want to stop. Emil's lips are on his own, he's holding on to him, letting out confused whimpers that end in soft moans, and he's losing it. But his sanity is catching up with him, and despite everything inside of him yells at him not to, he pulls back.

He could have said many things. Say how he shouldn't have done that, that Emil should forget about it. Emil looks scared of these words, he can tell, but there's a smile on his face, and a giddy look to his face. And as he feels his own heart racing, his hands shaking, his breath coming out in heavy puffs, he realizes he's never experienced this kind of adrenaline before. It's an entirely new feeling. It's overwhelming, confusing.

But he feels happy.

There's no regret. The rational voice inside of him is being drowned out by all the ways his body is telling him how good he feels, how good kissing Emil felt, that with the way Emil responded and now looks at him this couldn't have been a bad thing. There's too much good, and for once he doesn't want to follow rational.

He doesn't kiss him again, he doesn't think his body can handle it. But he steps closer again, extends an arm and pulls Emil close. He hugs him, blonde hair tickling his nose as he tucks Emil's head under his chin. Emil wraps his arms around him and hugs him tightly, and he likes it. He runs his fingers through Emil's hair on the back of his head, plants a kiss on top of his head, and stays like that.

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Richter looks back up at Emil, choosing not to think back to the day much longer. He feels the tickling sensation in his gut again, the butterflies. He still doesn't know how to deal with them, even after all these years. But he looks at Emil, confused and slightly hesitant to reply.

''Perhaps it was, what about it?''

It had been. He imagines he remembers it a bit more through rose coloured glasses, and he actively doesn't want to bother trying to remember all the things he could have done differently. What he remembers he does so fondly, and he will not have it sullied.

But before he can glare at Emil the boy smiles, only slightly teasing, but it's a big and especially loving smile. ''Nothing bad. I like it.'' The hint of a blush starts to colour his cheeks. ''I-I'm glad I got to be your first.'' he looks away as he speaks the words.

Richter has to look away as well, because now he is embarrassed. Not about never having kissed someone before, but about the way Emil says it. There's so much love and care to his words, he brings them so tentative and caring.

''Was it that obvious?'' Richter asked, perhaps a bit harsher than he intended.

''A-ah, no. At least, I don't think so? Not at the time. ''

''At the time?'' Richter raised his eyebrows.

''Well, we've improved over the years...''

There was little Richter could say to that.

''I'm just wondering...'' Emil hesitated, visibly uncertain if he could ask what he wanted. For once, Richter was uncertain if he wanted him to. Nevertheless, he pushed.

''Just say it.''

''I-Clearly, had never kissed someone. I had no idea what to do, but you seemed to?'' He tilted his head every so slightly.'' But if you've never kissed someone, how did you?...'' he didn't know how to put his thoughts into words. It wasn't as simple as ''How did you know what to do?'', the whole experience, as Emil remembered it, wasn't that. Had it been pure instinct?

It seemed he didn't have to finish his sentence. Richter remained quiet for a moment.

''I read a lot.''

A brief silence, during which Emil stares, unsure whether he is making a joke or not. Then he bursts out laughing.

And for the first time in years, Richter hides his face in his hands, with a sigh.

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Richter must have read so much, don't tell me he hasn't ever read some love stories. I'll make it worse, I'll bet he's read up on some cliche and badly written erotica too. Not to use as a guide, but just, days get lonely y'know? Everyone has urges.


	3. First Taste

I planned to make this a small ficlet while I work on a different treat. Unfortunately, coming up with ideas has become a lot harder than it did some years ago lol.

Ah but it feels soooo good writing for these two again! I read back my old work and...yikes. I can't bring myself to delete them, but boy am I glad to add something new/recent/better to that list!

Enjoy, and all input is appreciated!

Also this chapter is on the border of being a bit more mature rated. Ahem.

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Today was a special day. To others it might not seem so, but to Emil, this marked a new step into adulthood. He had had beer before, and wine, and liked the latter better than the former. The only sip of strong liquor he'd had before was when Zelos pranked him into thinking it was iced tea, and the ruined expectations of his palette and the burn in his throat ruined the taste. Aside from the fact that he was at the time not too eager to try it again, he was prevented from doing so.

Not by Richter. Although Richter had not been in the room when Zelos offered Emil his glass, but he appeared seemingly out of thin air at the sound of Emil's choking and self alarmed cough. Zelos had tactically avoided Richter for some time after that.

It wasn't that Emil was too young per se, although just 18, Richter was still not going to forbid him from trying out new things. It was the memory of what alcohol had done to his uncle and his moods that soured the thought, and although he never managed to remember just what Zelos pranked him with, the taste reminded him enough of the smell on his uncle's breath to put his natural curiosity on hold.

But that was some time ago now. A few years had passed. He had grown so much, and had long since decided that next time a special occasion would arise and the opportunity would present itself, he'd try. He had started anew, and his past life had not even been his own. This one was, and he was going to own it.

When he told Richter about this plan the man kissed him, and there was a smile playing on his lips Emil had come to see as somewhat nostalgic. While Richter's expressions would show pride of Emil's growth as a new person more often in their life together, there was a subtle touch to the ones that were connected to the past. Like when he first taught Emil how to fight and later saw how much progress he had made, or when he learned just how far he and Marta had ventured into the Camberto caves without giving up. But there was another difference to this smile. This time, Richter said it too.

" _I'm proud of you." It felt weird hearing those words from Richter, and by looking at him he could tell it felt just as weird to say them. But still Emil's chest swell with pride, and he felt his cheeks heat up at the compliment felt but never heard._

" _Y-You're proud that I'm going to drink?''_

 _Richter scoffed, but planted another kiss on the top of his head._

The only promise he had to make was that it was going to be at home. Having no issues with this he agreed, and after that, he waited for the occasion to simply appear.

It appeared a few months later in the form of another party, this time at Zelos's mansion. While it wasn't exactly at their home, Richter would be there, and he would be in familiar company. He still declined the drink Zelos offered him- the same one as a few years ago. Cognac, he now knew.

''Still not forgiven me have you?'' Zelos grinned.

''Oh I forgave you, I just don't want my first drink to be an old guy's drink.''

His careful grin broadened when Zelos' dropped and his friends laughed, and he was slapped on the shoulder by Lloyd.

Richter stepped up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly. Emil turned his head and smiled at him. Richter leaned closer. ''Come with me for a second.'' He whispered, and gave the tiniest nod of his head in the direction of the kitchen.

Emil blushed, his skin tickled by the feeling of Richter's breath on his neck or ear, and his voice so close. He followed, and in the kitchen stood multiple glasses, filled with just an inch of varying liquids. Some darker than others, some with ice, one that looked like water, and one that just looked like orange juice.

''That's...A lot.''

Richter sighed. ''I'll admit, it's not the most responsible of decisions I've made. You don't have to try them all, but those you try will eat least give you Zelos one less chance to surprise you again.'' He muttered, trying to hide the clear disapproval from his tone.

Emil nodded in agreement. Even with a simple soda mix-up, there are few things as gross as thinking you're going to taste one thing and get something entirely else.

''W-well...then let's start with the most deceiving ones.'' He ended with a confident nod, and walked to the two drinks he knew would be his first pick to prank someone with.

''So my guess is that these are not water and orange juice?''

Richter chuckled. ''No, but they both have the same base. One's just Vodka, the other is mixed with orange juice.''

''So I was partially right.''

Richter nods, amused, and gestures for Emil to try his pick. Deciding to get rid of the hardest one first, he took a careful sip of the vodka.

He scrunched up his face, not because of taste but because of the burning. There wasn't much to taste at all. But, not about do be discouraged, he took a normal swallow of the mix, and found it much more pleasant. It must have been clear on his face, because Richter nodded, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. While he wouldn't voice his thoughts, he had expected nothing less, and found it endearing that Emil liked a drink mixed with something so...innocent as orange juice.

''I toned it down quite a bit.'' He said '' Drinking different kind of things is not something I'd recommend in other situations.''

Emil understood. While the alcohol itself obviously could have no effect yet, he started to feel more excited now that he had his first taste of a new drink, and he was curious as to what the others taste like. Richter walked up to him again, pointing to each glass.

''In order: Amaretto, Whiskey, Rum, and Cognac.'' When Emil scrunched up his face he chuckled. ''Just so you have the option.'' He squeezed his shoulder again. ''Don't down them all in one go.''

He didn't. Over the night he would pull Richter back to the kitchen to try the next one, and he would enjoy the information Richter would be able to give him on it. Over time he felt the effects, and it was a lot different from getting a bit tipsy on wine.

Richter convinced him to stop before he started on the rum. Nevertheless, with the combination of different kind of drinks in a relatively short amount of time Emil felt a pleasant sway to his movements and vision. He felt bolder, more confident, and when Richter disappeared to get just a moment of peace he followed.

Richter stood outside on the balcony of the second floor, on the backside of the mansion. The downstairs laughter was just muffled enough to feel like you were underwater, but Emil was sure it must be the alcohol. He felt giddy. He wasn't nearly as stealthy as he liked to believe, he knew. Still Richter said nothing and allowed him to sneak up to him, and simply made room for Emil to wrap his arms around him from behind and slip his hand between Richter's chest and own hand.

But when Richter turned around after a while he was pleasantly surprised when Emil stood up on his toes and kissed him.

But where a kiss from Emil was usually brief and chaste, this one lasted. Two seconds, three, four. He pressed up against Richter, reached up and grabbed at his collar and chest. The bold behaviour sparked reactions all through Richter's body. So he responded. He moved his hand, stroking Emil's hair out of his face before moving his hand further back to clasp the back of his neck. He didn't need to bother. Emil pressed himself closer still, breaking apart for just for a second before leaning in again. He moaned softly against Richter's lips.

Richter groaned. The sounds, the pressure of Emil pressing up against him, the brush of his hand against his thigh; shy and hesitant, and only briefly there...

He pulled Emil back, squeezing the back of his neck just a bit and rubbing his thumb along the side. A sigh- a hint of a moan ringing through. Shy as he may seem, there was no denying Richter's dominant side was one of the reasons Emil had become so attracted to him.

Richter turned them around, and pushed Emil against the balcony railing before he leaned down to reignite the kiss. They pressed up against each other, their touches varying from frantic and determined grabs to soft and endearing.

Richter could taste the alcohol on Emil's lips and tongue. He could feel the confidence behind his touches, encouraged by his intoxicated state. Emil had been drunk before, a few times. Whenever he was he was always less shy about showing what he wanted, and those rare moments of boldness and demanding and needy touches- Well, he could only respond the same.

But when he felt Emil's hand brush against the inside of his thigh again, moving _higher_ , he lost it. In a reflex he pressed back against Emil's hand, and he broke this kiss to move his lips the spot behind Emil's ear. He was unable to suppress a groan at the pleasant pressure of Emil's hand _there_ , and even as Emil pulled his hand back did his mind not come down from its high. He stood up straight again, looking at Emil. He blushed, and he seemed to have some trouble focusing, but between shaky gasp escaping from swollen lips a grin appeared, small and almost sly. It seemed even Emil was surprised with himself.

Had he known Emil would get such a touchy-feely drunk from strong liquor he would have bought him a bottle himself.

* * *

Sorry to end it so abruptly but else I'd really have to up the rating of this whole thing, ha.

It was a bit hard to get Emil in character? Writing him bolder is so contradicting to all he was in the game. If you feel this was too out of character do let me know, and on which part(s). A story is most fun to share if everyone can enjoy it, and I've been so out of writing these two that really, I may need some help.

See you next chapter!


	4. Hoarding Memories

It was a relatively quiet day. Richter was busy with making sense of his administration surrounding all the jobs he took on; something he knew he could have spared himself a lot of time with if he just did it regularly. But really, not even half elves are immune to procrastinating. Time and time again he told himself that next time he would start sooner. He never did.

Emil would often find himself bored during these days. If disturbed to often Richter would either get moody or simply give up. Neither benefited them. It was much the same way with Emil when Richter would be set on showing... affection when Emil would be working in the kitchen. So he had developed a system of his own.

During the days where Richter would be occupied, he would take this time to clean the house thoroughly or prepare elaborate meals.

Today he decided to tackle their closet and its content.

He sat in front of the closet, the bed behind him covered in several huge piles of clothes; split in Richter's and Emil's, in old but usable and unusable, in favorites, to be washed and ironed and a neatly folded pile that was ready to be put back in.

Ah but it was always a challenge to go through old belongings. Clothes are no exception. While Emil was relatively easy with discarding clothes, Richter was not. When done he would have to convince Richter that the clothes Emil had deemed lost were indeed meant to be lost. Be it because they were too damaged to be saved or simply because he never did or would wear them.

Emil was about to tear the hole in one of his shirts a little bigger- just so he could throw it out, when something caught his eye.

In the back of the bottom drawer lay some loose junk, but behind it he saw a familiar but forgotten shade of blue and yellow. As if in trance he reached out, and his finger twitched when he touched the fabric.

Power still flowed through his old clothes. True to the words once spoken by Tenebrae it draped out free of wrinkles when Emil pulled it out of the drawer, even the dust gathered on some of the other garments had been unable to touch the fabric. It colors were as vibrant as he remembered them, perhaps even more so.

He was brought back to old times. The clothes felt as nostalgic as his memories, and there was something poetic about it he couldn't put into words. He placed the clothes next to him. Carefully as if he alone could damage them. Then he turned around and crawled under the bed. He didn't have to reach far before his fingers bumped against the cold steel of his old scabbard.

He hadn't touched his sword in months. He only still used his swords for training and the times he accompanied Richter on his jobs. Both had become rarer however, and as such his old Soul Blast had been somewhat neglected. He pulled it out only for the smallest bit. Despite it's enchanted nature and resemblance to a flame it still rang like steel as it scraped against the scabbard. It didn't burn his hand as he touched the side of the blade- as it should. Only those on the receiving end of its wrath will feel its fire. He briefly remembered the fire that had erupted when the fire of his blade had met the fire of The Lord of Flames. It was odd to think an enemy once so dangerous was now sitting opposite of the wall between them, gritting his teeth over numbers instead of demons. He smiled as he slid his old companion back in its sheath. He'd ask Richter if he could join him again sometime soon.

He refrained from folding his old tunic, wanting to gaze at it just a little while longer even if it was just from the corner of his eyes. Instead he decided to dive deeper into the hidden nooks and drawers of the closet, and secrets it had. A double bottom as well as a back panel, and one drawer that only opened if he jammed a pencil under it- although that had never been an intentional trick. He had even forgotten which drawer it was. He laughed when he found it, and as he opened it the laugh turned into a pleasantly surprised smile.

As far as Richter knew, the drawer was simply jammed and contained only old junk. But Emil had, as soon as the defect had developed, named this his drawer for secret belongings. His old gloves, the tacky mask Lloyd had given him so many years ago, the sorcerer's ring, synthesized statues once used to evolve his loyal companions. And many other smaller trinkets. But among these trinkets lay something else.

It was far less fluffy than he remembered, although it brought just as much second hand embarrassment as it did on that day.

''Hey Richter?''No answer.

He stood up, wincing at his aching knees. As he entered the living room it was clear Richter was simply too focused, and only sounds of danger would get him out of his trance. Ah but this was perfect, and for nostalgia's sake, Emil would take advantage of the man's habit to always underestimate him.

He didn't bother sneaking, that would only raise suspicion. He held the object behind his back as he walked up behind his partner. Richter was perched on the couch, just barely on the cushion with how much he was leaning forward, bent over documents spread all over the table.

''Have it figured out yet?''

''Almost.'' Richter mumbles. ''The innkeep from ozette still owes me 200 from the time I gathered that rare ore for the base of the inn, and the mayor from Asgard owes me a meager 800 for the monster hunt from last month.'' He let out a sigh and pushed up his glasses to rub his eyes. ''That said I still owe him about 1200 for all the damage I caused in the ruins so perhaps it's better I not contact him.''

Usually Emil would be all ears, simply because he loved hearing Richter talk. As he once heard a woman drunkily tell Richter at a bar ''You sir, your voiceee...That's a voice I'd fuck...''. Oh how he'd blushed that time. Although later in an equally intoxicated state and voice, he had attempted to relay this himself. He remembers though that his agreement came out a lot less confident than he had intended. In different words. With a slight stutter.

He was pulled back to the present when Richter threathened to turn around and possibly see what Emil was hiding. In a desperate and impulsive move he dove forward to the spot behind Richter. Before Richter could move he sat up, somewhat squashed between Richter's unyielding form and the back of the couch. To get a somewhat more comfortable position he awkwardly unfolded his legs and wrapped them around Richter from behind, and was it not something he had done more often in the past it would have surely raised suspicion.

''Well that's been a while.'' Richter muttered, and he instinctively wrapped a hand around Emil's ankle to move his feet away from his nether region.

''I'm feeling nostalgic.''

''Hmm.'' Richter huffed. While the way of hugging was oddly endearing, even though it reminded him of a monkey latched on to its mother's back, he had not particularly missed it. Mainly because more than once had he not been in time to subtle place a hand between groin and foot.

While not originally intended the position they were in did give Emil another wave of nostalgia. With the fluffy object tucked between his back and the couch he had his hands free, and he wrapped them tightly around Richter's torso. He pressed his cheek against his back, and scrunched up his face and wiggled his nose as Richter's hair tickled his skin. He breathed in Richter's scent, always strong and somewhat musky yet never unpleasant. Richter moved his hand, gently running his hand up the leg he had previously held locked in place. It was a gentle touch, not meant to spark a reaction, but it did. Perhaps because he always did this during the nights, when hot breaths mingled and naked skin glistened with a slight sheen of sweat.

His body responded to the imagine of Richter crawling closer to him, gently running his hands up his leg, along the inside of his thigh before his head dipped down and lips followed where fingers went.

He knew this was going to get out of either of their control fast, as Richter turned on his spot. Still he met Richter halfway, craning his neck back and enjoying the tingling sensation that ran down his spin as Richter's free hand cupped the side of his face and his fingertips tickled the base of his scalp as it ran through his hair.

Richter's lips started to move more urgently and demanding against his. They moved, taking up the length of the couch, paper and secret plans forgotten. Emil let out a soft moan as Richter's hand deftly moved, simultaneously tugging at his hair while pressed gently but presently against his throat. Richter's lips openen and Emil's followed soon after he felt the gentle and warm touch of Richter's tongue.

His own hands started to wander. From broad shoulders to strong arms, and when Richter's hand that had previously been holding his leg moved upward alongside the inside of his thigh Emil's own hands ventured lower as well, pulling up Richter's shirt to feel the skin beneath. Always hot to the touch.

He felt his self control losing, and if Richter's hand tugging at the rim of his pants was any indication he was not the only one. He moved to mimic Richter, but then his hand bumped against something. Something soft that reminded his why he had come into the living room in the first place.

It would ruin the mood. Definitely. Knowing their dynamic they would be able to pick it back up, but he wondered just how easily after this. Ah but he wanted to, he really did.

So when Richter thought Emil's hands ran up his back to his face to hold it, to run his hands through his hair or to pull him closer, he was surprised when he felt a pressure on either side of his head. It clenched, almost painfully so, to keep it in place. And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he instantly knew.

Emil had a coy grin on his face as Richter sat up. His reflection in the window confirmed his suspicions. On top of his head sat the old and almost forgotten pair of bunny ears Presea had once so determinedly held there. It made for an even weirder picture now, with his shirt riled up and skin bared, his hair disheveled and lips parted to catch his breath.

Yet, where Emil had expected Richter to immediately pry it off and toss it to the side, Richter ran a finger up one of the ears and chuckled. ''I thought I told you to throw it out.''

''You didn't really think I would did you?'' Emil smiled.

''No,'' Richter's lips curved upward into a small hint of a smile. ''No. I didn't.'' He said, and leaned down to kiss Emil.

* * *

 _Because Richter is just a secret sap who really enjoys being part of this symphonia family and is secretly happy Emil didn't throw it out._  
 _I went through my old fics and after punching myself in the thorax and cringing enough for an entire high school I actually found some inspiration. If any of you ever doubt that you've improved, just read your older works. Or mine. Let my growth be your inspiration._

 _Also speaking of inspiration, I really got this flow going. Got this baby down in 2 hours-ish. So while the power juice is flowing, let the ideas do to. In other words: **YOUR IDEAS**. That's right, I need your sweet peas to drop ideas. I may not be able to make each as long as the other, but **I will get as many of them done as I can.** If need be (say, I find them unfitting for this older AU but absolutely adore the idea as a standalone) I will make it a standalone fic, or a bundle of request fics._

 _Don't be shy, it can be about almost anything! (no mpreg) Complete AU, canon, fluff, angst, crack. ANYTHING! It's a party!_

 _love!_


	5. Batter Banter

kudos to hannikkatwoitseems for the idea.

Sorry it's late. I got a promotion at work and my hours doubled, and I'm also writing 6 things at once _and_ still like to enjoy time with my partner. Time management yo.

Enjoy!

* * *

One of the things Emil loved about the dynamic between them is how each of them had their own jobs, their own talents,- ones the other shouldn't touch. These talents- their own, would render them incapable of surviving were they forced to rely on themselves. But together, when combining these talents reserved for themselves- _really, please stop trying for the love of Martel, leave it to me-,_ they had somehow managed to form a real household. A real family. It worked perfectly- if they each stuck to their talents.

Emil knew he was awful with numbers and math. He left everything that needed calculating and budgeting to Richter. The same went for background information on just about anything he could think of.

Despite the occasional explosion of papers and books, left after a research spree from Richter, both were quite tidy. While Emil didn't mind cleaning up after his own mess, it was an entirely different case when it came to someone else's.

He hated it the most when it meant cleaning up after Richter after he, for the umpteenth time, had tried to broaden his arsenal of talents.

It was uncomfortable to see Richter embarrassed and incapable. It gave him so much second-hand embarrassment that he more often than he liked to ended up just letting it slide.

He was scrubbing a pan, not even caring about the layer he was usually so set on not damaging. Right now he just wanted to get rid of the hardened black matter that had become as solid as stone and seemed as set on sticking to the pan's surface as he was on cleaning it. It was a battle of patience, and he was losing it.

''Will you please, _for the love of Martel_ , come loose already?'' He breezed.

''That's usually my thought about that dreaded jacket of yours.''

Emil whipped his head around. Richter was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. Despite his tone not giving away anything, there was a glint in his eyes that Emil had come to recognize as something akin to guilt. It fit Richter horribly. Emil lifted the pan.

''What even were you trying to make?'' He looked at Richter incredulously.

Richter glanced away for just a second. ''Pancakes.''

''P-Pancakes?'' Emil blinked in surprise and looked back at the pan, then back at Richter before roughly tapping the knife he'd been using to try and pry it loose against the dried and burnt remnants of the batter. ''It's become as hard as a rock!''

''I was reading up on recipes and baking tips and forgot to pay attention.''

Emil resisted the urge to say anything he might regret later.

''How are you even alive?''

''Probably because you make the pancakes.''

The dry tone in which Richter said it worked its magic. It disarmed Emil, and the sigh he let out ended with a snort of laughter. He gave up on cleaning and saving the pan. They'd just have to get a new one- not for the first time. But hopefully for the last.

"Okay this can't go on like this."

There was a brief flicker of panic in Richter's eyes that made him stop in his tracks, but the lightness of his tone rang through and when Richter realized it was nothing quite drastic he masked his initial reaction with a flick of his hair.

"What?"

"I'm going to teach you how to make pancakes. Again. And this time, you're going to write it down." Emil said.

Richter scoffed. "You want me to write it down like I'm some kid?"

"Y-yes." Emil crossed his arms, trying to look as defiant and confident as possible. It always worked, although not for the reasons Emil thought. In truth it just worked because Richter found it endearing how he tried.

Richter sighed, feigning annoyance. "Fine."

''I'm curious how you made this though..." Emil looked at the pan again with a look of wariness. "How much flour did you use?"

"Half the package. Why?"

Emil lost the strength to keep the pan on eyelevel. He dropped it to his side in astonishment. "Half the- Half? Half. That's 500 grams!"

"Was it not enough?" Richter frowned.

Emil stammered out a few syllables. He was truthfully, in all innocent wonder, asking if half a kilo of flour had not been enough.

"That's double what you need. And by the looks of it you didn't double the milk."

"200 millilitres."

"500. You were close though." It was too ridiculous. A grown man. Monster slayer. Pact maker with Demons and misunderstood Destroyer of the world. Pancake Killer.

"I added more as I went." Richter added dryly.

"I hope so, you can't make a batter with those measurements. You just get giant lumps of goo." Emil stared at the pan again.

"I figured thick batter makes thick pancakes."

"Well, you're not _wrong_?" Emil laughed. "But it has to run out some, I use a different recipe for the _really_ thick ones. And a lot more technique."

"Come to think of it, I've never actually seen you make them." Richter said after a brief silence.

"Probably because I don't want you trying to mimic me." Emil dropped his head. Martel save them all the day Richter tried his hands on _those_. He shook his head. ''Okay, get pen and paper.''

While Emil would normally read out the steps and let Richter write it down himself, it left Richter too much room to write it down _wrong_. So Emil wrote it down, step by step. He kept the steps simple, but added some detail as to how the batter should look after adding the ingredients. An addition clearly needed.

He slid the paper over to Richter. ''Read.''

Richter gave him a look, but Emil stood firm, and Richter managed to follow the command without scoffing. While he read Emil started to clean the mess left behind in Richter's wake. The scale, - which at least he was happy had been used, he placed in front of Richter.

''Let's start with getting the ingredients ready. I'll clean in the meantime.''

They were able to start out clean soon after, and with Emil's supervision and guidance- a situation that not often occurred- Richter mixed up the batter. _Still_ the batter had turned out somewhat off compared to Emil's usual standard _,_ for reasons he couldn't understand. But it was good enough, and he was not about to let this victory be blemished by something like this,

''Okay, time for the hardest part. '' Emil said. Richter scoffed, and he gently punched him on the arm. ''You better take this seriously!'' A slight pout found its way to Emil's lips.

''Relax, it's going to be fine.''

Emil glanced at the pan he was forced to throw out. He sighed.

''Okay. First off, what does it say about the fire?''

Richter looked at him. ''You're asking me?''

''Y-yes, I'm asking you! You wrote it down so you can follow the instructions. Not so you can ask me.'' Emil gave Richter a look. He didn't know if he wanted to cross his arms and get annoyed or drop his head in exasperation.

Richter seemed unaware of Emil's inner turmoil. He briefly turned to look at the instructions taped to the fridge door. ''Middle high. ''

Emil nodded and turned on the stove. ''Too low and you'll get soggy pancakes because they suck up all the butter, too high and they'll, well. Burn.'' He showed Richter how high he turned it on.

From here on it went fast. He told Richter everything he had also written down in hopes of making it stuck this time. Don't drop the butter straight in the pan for greasing, use a kitchen towel. Also don't let it get too brown. No wait, it needs to be hot enough first. Because it will stick if you don't and you get gross buttery or oily pancakes. Try to flip it only once. If the small bubbles starts to rise and pop, flip. Get the pan with the thick bottom, -no not the thin one. Because you will burn the pancake. Don't mix it through every time you pour a new one, they'll get flat instead of fluffy. Fill a soup ladle with 3/4th of the batter and you have enough. You don't _always_ have to grease in the pan between pancakes. When? Just look at the pan. -You can see it, trust me. Yes you can. Okay just always grease in the pan to be safe. _Always._

They ended up with a stack of pancakes of a various state of success. Richter clearly didn't have the talent for flipping them yet, even with the biggest spatula they had, but after a few tries they got better and didn't fall apart.

Emil was satisfied, more than pleased really. It went better than he had expected. After just one bite though, Richter seemed displeased.

''What's wrong?'' Emil asked.

''They're...different.''

''Well, you made them.'' He hesitantly suggested.

Richter glared at him. ''No, it's not just because of that. They're...bland.''

Emil cocked his head to the side, then it dawned on him why Richter found the taste lacking. ''Oh, yeah I always add 2 more ingredients, but I wanted to start with this.''

''What ingredients?''

''Cinnamon...and...''

''And?''

''Beer.''

Richter looked at him. ''Is that why there are sometimes opened cans of beer lying around outside?''

''They are _not_ lying around, it's against the bugs and snails. It keeps them out of the garden. I only need a little bit for the pancakes.''

If Emil didn't like the taste of beer, Richter absolutely loathed it. So much so that there was another reason Emil hadn't told him about his ingredients.

Like a kid who had to eat his vegetables, Richter scrunched up his nose. ''I've been eating beer?''

Emil snorted, then freely laughed.

Yes, Richter was a disaster in the kitchen. In making food, cleaning, and sometimes even eating. This...childish...banter, he loved it- although he wouldn't tell Richter. Behind the stoic façade and harshness in his eyes, Richter could be just as childish- as he should be.

This life was not about death and revenge. It was about sighing because Emil had not put his books back in the order he liked them, and Emil complaining that he left them everywhere. It was about waking up in the middle of the night because Emil was a light sleeper and Richter's bladder was too small to last the entire night. It was about them bickering about Richter always having to clean the bathroom mirror because Emil somehow kept getting toothpaste splatters on it.

It was about Emil sitting outside next to Richter, cross-legged and leaning against his knee, playing with the grass while Richter fell asleep in the sun shining through the foliage of the treeline.

It was about Richter ironically making the best coffee there was but not really liking it himself.

It was about them getting to live a life with this mindless bickering over small things like not dropping your socks in the middle of the room. A life with conversations about what had happened at the market the other day. A life where Emil can't breathe because he's doubled over laughing, because now that Richter knows there was _beer_ in his precious pancakes he suddenly doesn't know if he still wants to eat them.

It's simple, it's peaceful, and it's perfect.

* * *

A/N

I just wanted a plotless chapter that was really just this snippet of casual life. Still, next time I think I'll stick to plot.

PLEASE point out any spelling or grammar errors so I can remove them.


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